“‘Hannah, I want you to have half of my farm…’”

“What?” The question exploded out of Ethan as his tilting chair slammed on the floor. “Read that again?”

Dan sighed. “Please, Ethan. Just wait. Let me finish. ‘Hannah, you get this half of the farm on one condition. You stay here in Riverbend for six months, and you stay on the farm. When six months is over, you can do what you want with your half. If you leave before the six months are up, you don’t get half.’” Dan glanced up at Hannah. “Do you understand what I just read?”

Though Hannah nodded, she struggled to process the concept. She chanced a quick look at the man beside her.

Ethan rocked in his chair as well, his face hard and angry. Not difficult to see he didn’t like the idea, either.

CAROLYNE AARSEN

and her husband Richard live on a small ranch in northern Alberta, where they have raised four children and numerous foster children, and are still raising cattle. Carolyne crafts her stories in her office with a large west-facing window, through which she can watch the changing seasons while struggling to make her words obey.

Finally a Family
Carolyne Aarsen

Published by Steeple Hill Books™

Accept one another then, just as Christ accepted you, in order to bring praise to God.

—Romans 15:7

To the children who never had a choice.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

So this was the town Sam had scurried back to thirteen years ago.

Hannah rocked back and forth on her feet as she looked up and down the main street of Riverbend, studying it through the eyes of one left behind for this place.

The downtown boasted older-style brick buildings and ash trees lining the street, the first hint of spring in the fresh green misting their bare branches. Pleasant enough.

Even though Sam wasn’t Hannah’s biological father, she thought his nine-year relationship with her and her mother would have given him some permanent stake in their lives. But this town and his extended family had obviously exerted a pull stronger than they had because in the thirteen years he was gone he never came back for her, or wrote or even phoned. Two days ago, however, Hannah received the news from someone named Dan that Sam had passed away three weeks earlier. Dan had politely requested that she come to Riverbend for the reading of Sam’s will.

Hannah glanced down Main Street and pulled a face. This town was too small for this big-city girl’s liking. Far removed from any major centre and with too many pickup trucks, Hannah thought, her attention drawn by a particularly loud red one making its way down the street toward her.

Hannah flipped open her cell phone and, though she’d had it on since she left Toronto, she checked her messages again. Nothing from Lizzie, her business partner, about how things were progressing on the purchase. Hannah had been reluctant to leave, but Lizzie had encouraged her, saying that nothing was going to happen in the next week, so here she was. She didn’t need to meet with the Westervelds till tomorrow, but curiosity had her come a day early. Just to explore and familiarize herself with Sam’s surroundings.

Hannah pushed back her own concerns as she drew in a long, slow breath, catching the tantalizing whiff of coffee blended with the distinctive scent of yeast and bread.

She rolled her stiff shoulders as the light changed, already anticipating the bite of the dark brew combined with a warm muffin. Or maybe a Danish.

A couple of young girls slipped past her and dashed across the street, waving at the driver of the noisy red pickup who had turned onto the main street and was parking in front of the bakery.

Then one of the girls bumped into a little boy coming out of the bakery.

The boy dropped his doughnut and his lip quivered as he looked at the treat now lying frosting-side down on the sidewalk. She hurried to his side and knelt in front of him. “Are you okay?” she asked.

He only nodded as she checked her pockets for loose change, but all that came up were a few nickels.

“Susie Corbett, get back here.” A man stepping out of the fancy red truck called out to the delinquent girls.

The shorter girl with the curly blond hair heeded the summons and slowed her steps. The other kept running.

“I said now, Susie.” While he barked out his demand, the man walked over to Hannah and the little boy.

“You okay, Todd?” he asked, though his gaze came to rest on Hannah.

His eyes, an unusual color of sage, fringed with thick, dark eyelashes, caught and held her attention. His finely shaped lips curved into a crooked smile emphasizing his hollow cheekbones. His expression clearly had one intention. “Thanks for helping,” he said, the timbre of his voice lowering and, in spite of knowing what he was playing at, Hannah felt a lift of attraction.

“Back at you.” She kept her smile aloof. No sense encouraging one of the locals on a quick visit.

She forced her attention back to the little boy. “Sorry, I don’t have enough change for another doughnut,” she said.

He sighed and nodded.

“That’s okay. Susie will pay,” the man said as the girl came nearer. “Won’t you, Susie? I think you owe Todd about fifty cents.”

“Uncle Ethan,” she wailed, but even as she protested, she dug in her pocket. “You won’t tell Mom, will you?” she asked as she handed the money over.

“Of course I won’t tell your mom, you little twerp. Just don’t act like such a toughie.” He made the letter V with his fingers and pointed them at his eyes. “Remember, I see everything.”

Susie gave a nervous laugh.

“Okay, Uncle Ethan.” She took a few hesitant steps backward. “Can I go now?”

Uncle Ethan flipped his hand toward her in a dismissive gesture. “Shoo. Run along.” Ethan handed the coins to the little boy, who took them with a quickly murmured thank-you and scooted inside the bakery.

When Hannah stood, Ethan looked at her again. This time she caught a hint of puzzlement in his eyes.

“Do I know you?”

Hannah laughed then. Any number of smart remarks came to mind, but his laugh answered hers before she could share any of them.

“That was as lame as a two-legged cat. Sorry.” He scratched his head, rearranging his hair.

Weekend cowboy, Hannah deduced, taking in the long legs clad in crisp blue jeans and the polished cowboy boots.

“It’s so hard to come up with original lines these days. All the best ones have been taken,” Hannah said.

He looked as if he was about to answer with a smart remark of his own when a woman’s voice caught his attention.

“Ethan. Wait up.” A lithe blond woman came alongside him and slipped her arm through his. “I didn’t know you were coming to town, handsome.”

Ethan flicked his attention toward the woman, then back to Hannah.

Who, officially, was no longer interested. She had spent too much time with guys like Ethan. They encouraged women until things got too serious, then the men developed a sudden severe case of attention deficit disorder and moved on to another woman.

Case in point, Alex Deerborn.

No thanks.

She moved past him, the scent of coffee growing stronger and more tantalizing by the minute.

“So who was that?” she heard the blonde ask.

“I’m not sure, Jocelyn,” he responded.

His vague comment made her look back again. “Uncle Ethan” stared at her, a frown pulling his well-shaped eyebrows together, ignoring the woman clinging to his arm.

“I think I saw her.”

Morris Westerveld lowered his newspaper and favored his son with a puzzled look. “Saw who?”

“Hannah Kristoferson.” Ethan dropped onto the couch in his parents’ house, balancing the plate he’d stacked high with the freshly baked peanut-butter-chip cookies he’d found cooling on the kitchen counter. He’d lived on the farm for the past few years, but he still dropped in on his parents in town from time to time. Though his father, the principal of Riverbend High School, hadn’t done any work on the farm since he was in high school himself, Ethan often used him as a sounding board. Although his dad had never liked farm work or living on the farm, he humored Ethan by listening.

“Where did you see her?”

“I thought I saw her by the bakery after I gave Susie trouble for knocking Todd over.”

“What does she look like?”

“She should comb her hair. I’m sure Janie didn’t let her out of the house looking like that.”

“I meant that Hannah girl.”

Ethan took another bite. He had known whom his father meant. He didn’t want to think about Hannah and why exactly his uncle Sam had been so insistent she come for a simple reading of a will that had been postponed against her arrival.

“She’s tall. Long brownish hair, pretty thick. Curly. She was wearing some kind of bandanna over it. Brown eyes. Doesn’t look much different from the picture Uncle Sam had in the house.” Ethan added a shrug to the monologue as if to show his father that Hannah was simply an inconvenient blip on his radar instead of someone he’d been wondering about ever since he had first seen that picture.

Ethan didn’t want to think about the implications of Hannah’s presence and the questions that raised. He preferred to concentrate on the chewy cookies and the shred of comfort they gave him. A feeling in short supply since Sam’s death.

Though Sam had been in the hospital for the past six months, each morning Ethan got up, he still expected to see his beloved uncle and farming partner standing by the stove, asking Ethan how he wanted his eggs. Each morning the pain was as deep as the day before. That had made it difficult to get the equipment ready this spring for a job that, of all the farm work, Sam had loved the most. Working the fields.

“She doesn’t sound too remarkable,” his father said.

“Nope.” Ethan took another healthy bite. “Nothing remarkable about her at all.”

And he was lying through the peanut butter chips filling his mouth. When he had seen the girl he assumed was Hannah standing on the street corner, her expression holding the faintest glint of humor, he’d been intrigued enough to slow his truck down for a second look.

When she had tried to help out his nephew, she struck a chord in his heart. And then he’d tossed out that lame question.

Do I know you?

He blamed his lapse on the hint of laughter in the shape of her arching eyebrows and her soft mouth. Brown hair flowing like melted chocolate over her shoulders and down her back had also added to his momentary brainlessness.

In spite of his rather uncharacteristically gauche question, he still wanted to go after her and ask her a few questions, which would have violated his hard-won rules for living.

Keep your pride. Don’t go running after any girl. Let them come to you.

This had been his mantra ever since Colby left him the day before their wedding because she suddenly decided she couldn’t move onto the farm.

It took him four months to get over her, five months to use up all the envelopes that came with the thank-you cards and six months to decide he would never go running after a girl again.

“Hannah was supposed to be here by today, so that girl could easily have been her.” Morris Westerveld gave his newspaper a shake and dived into the news of the world again.

Ethan sighed and picked a crumb off his fingertip.

If that girl was Hannah, she would bring nothing but questions and potential trouble to the family and—more specifically—to him.

The family had all breathed a collective sigh of relief when Sam came back from Ontario thirteen years ago. Grandpa Westerveld, Sam’s partner on the family farm, had been injured in a bad accident and Sam was needed. Ethan was sixteen at the time and chafing to quit school so he could work full-time with his grandfather on their family farm. Ever since he could throw a bale, Ethan had spent evenings and weekends and every holiday helping his grandpa.

Sam slipped back into the groove but never said much about the nine years he’d been gone or the woman that he’d been living with and her little girl. Nor did he ever get married.

After Grandpa Westerveld died, Sam, his son, took over the struggling farm, and when Ethan graduated from high school Sam took his nephew on as his new partner.

Now Sam was dead, after a six-month battle with cancer. And, per Sam’s request, Sam wanted one Hannah Kristoferson and Ethan Westerveld at a private reading of his will, the reading to be put off until such time as one Hannah Kristoferson could be tracked down.

Though no one understood the reasons for Sam’s unusual request, the Westerveld family all knew about Hannah and her mother, Marla, and their involvement with their brother and uncle.

Sam and his father had had a falling out and Sam had left, determined to make it on his own. He started hitchhiking across Canada and got as far as Toronto, where he met Marla and Hannah at a Laundromat. Hannah was three. He dated Marla for a time and then moved in.

During Sam’s stay in Toronto, the family kept up a regular communication with Sam. They all wrote and phoned. When he returned, he never mentioned Marla or Hannah. The only reminder of those lost years was a few pictures and some homemade cards, and the cheques he sent Marla Kristoferson every month.

When Sam was admitted to the hospital, he asked the family to try to find Hannah so he could see her before he died. By the time they finally found her, Sam had been dead and buried for three weeks.

Ethan pushed himself off the couch. He didn’t need to give Hannah or her mother any more headspace. He had too much work to do and too little time to do it in.

Chapter Two

Hannah paused at the entrance to the acreage to check the name on the sign: Dan and Tilly Westerveld. She put the car in gear, took a calming breath and turned down the driveway. The tall spruce trees lining the driveway could have been welcoming or sinister, depending on one’s mental state.

Right now, echoes of Hansel and Gretel were teasing her memories. Though Hannah was pretty sure no tempting gingerbread house complete with wicked witch lay at the end of the graveled driveway, a sense of foreboding still surrounded her as she drove.

The driveway gave one more turn and then opened up into a large open space, also surrounded by spruce trees. She slowed, then turned toward an area she presumed was a parking lot. It was occupied by a small white car and the same bright red truck Hannah had seen her first day in town.

Hannah locked the car and, as she slipped the keys into her purse, took a moment to look at the Westerveld home. The house was large, all shades of cream and brown, and set off by a heavy fieldstone foundation.

Contemporary, imposing and probably expensive.

The house had two wings connected by a thirty-foot-high section composed of glass, creating an abundance of natural light.

Dan Westerveld must share Sam’s love of gardening, from the look of the large landscaped lawn broken up with clumps of shrubs and flowers. Beyond the house Hannah caught a glimpse of a fountain and a gazebo flanked by flower beds.

Spikes and a few patches of green broke through the dirt. She would love to see this place in the summertime, she thought with a tinge of disloyalty, letting the peace and quiet of the place surround her.

It had taken a lot of money and a lot of time to make this place look like this. The house alone would have set them back beaucoup bucks, never mind the landscaping costs.

What was a simple hairdresser with plans of buying an old, decrepit salon thinking this family owed her?

Her anger and her grief over Sam were inextricably intertwined with her anger against his family. If they hadn’t interfered, she might have had a father yet. If the Westervelds had stayed out of their business, her teen years might have had some cohesion and order instead of the chaos and confusion it fell into after Sam left.

She strode up the brick walk, marched up the slate steps to the recessed front door and pressed the doorbell.

Hannah, taking charge.

After a few moments, the door opened to reveal a middle-aged woman clad in blue jeans, a corduroy blazer over a white T-shirt and a polite smile.

“You must be Hannah. Come in.” She stood aside to let Hannah in. “I’m Tilly Westerveld. Welcome to our home.”

The interior was even more impressive than the exterior. The entrance soared two floors, lit by the wall of windows.

“Can I take your coat?” Tilly asked as Hannah’s eyes were drawn, against their will, to a staircase arching gracefully up to the second floor. To her right, through a set of sliding wooden and glass doors, she saw upholstered chairs pushed up to a gleaming wooden table in a dining room, also open to the second floor.

“Sure,” Hannah said, feeling a bit dazed by her surroundings.

“Dan and Ethan are in the study. Would you like a cup of coffee or tea before you go in?”

“Um…no, thanks.” She gave Tilly a belated smile.

“Would you like me to show you the way?”

Tilly’s own smile was as polite as before but Hannah caught a hint of tightness around her mouth. She guessed Tilly Westerveld wasn’t elated to see her.

“That’s not necessary. Just tell me how to get there.”

“The study is just past the stairs. Turn to your left and then left again. The door is open.” Tilly waved her hand toward the hallway leading off the foyer.

“Thanks.” Feeling vulnerable without her jacket, Hannah folded her arms over her stomach and followed Tilly’s directions, a sense of unreality surrounding her like a cloud. She tried not to stare as a double set of glass doors off the hallway to her right afforded her a glimpse of another large room, the great room, she suspected, with its massive fireplace, numerous leather chairs and couches and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the backyard. A woman sat curled up in one corner of the couch. She looked up as Hannah passed and lowered her book, her features transforming from curiosity to bored disinterest.

Hannah heard the sound of murmuring voices and made another turn, focusing on the reason she was here. The door to the study was half-open, so Hannah knocked lightly on it and waited.

“Hannah Kristoferson?”

The door opened and a man stood in front of her, tall, slightly graying hair, friendly blue eyes with laugh lines radiating from their corners. Just like Sam’s. His genuine smile created a hitch in her heart which, compounded with the embarrassment of being caught snooping, made her feel flustered.

“Yes. Sorry. Your wife…told me to come here—” she waved backward, down the hallway in the general direction of the rest of the house “—so I…I’m here. I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just…your yard. It’s…it’s lovely.”

And…stop.

“Why, thank you, Hannah.” Dan Westerveld walked toward the window and beckoned for her to follow. “Come here and you can have a better look.”

“No, that’s okay. I mean, I’m here for a meeting, right?”

“Don’t fuss on account of me,” she heard a deep voice drawl from the other side of the room.

A tall figure stood in front of a set of bookshelves covering the entire wall, floor to ceiling. He held a magazine in one hand, and continued flipping through it while he watched her.

His faint smile mocked her even as she read the interest in his eyes.

“Uncle Ethan.” Ethan Westerveld.

Well, she wasn’t reciprocating his interest. Coming to this Westerveld stronghold had never been a goal. Cozying up to one of “them,” certainly not on the list, no matter how good-looking he may be.

Besides, his whole posture, that look on his face, the smile bordering on self-confident smirk all added up to consummate flirt. Shades of Alex.

She turned back to Dan Westerveld, determined to regain some kind of ground. “Looks to me like you’ve got peonies coming up in the front. What kind are they?” she asked, making conversation as she walked to the window, allowing herself a good look at the yard she had so admired.

“They come from hearty prairie stock my mother’s mother planted on their home site.” Dan stood beside her, his hands in the pockets of his pants. “Sam gave me some cuttings a few years back. He farms…farmed, the old place.” Dan laughed lightly. “Have to get used to the idea,” he said softly. “He was a good man, my brother.”

“I’d like to tell you again I’m sorry,” Hannah said. Politeness deemed she show some respect for his loss. She wished she could be a bit more sincere, but there it was.

“He had a rough few months, toward the end. He was in a lot of pain, but he died knowing he was a child of God and that he was going on to a better place.”

Hannah acknowledged the sentiments with an impersonal nod. She should have known she would bump against Sam’s presence and the beliefs of his family often and in many guises. She might as well get used to the pious talk.

“Have you met my nephew Ethan?” Dan asked, walking around to the other side of his desk. “Ethan, this is Hannah Kristoferson. Hannah, Ethan Westerveld.”

“We met,” Ethan said, laying the magazine aside on a table and sauntering over. A man in charge of his world and comfortable in this place.

“If you want to call that a meeting,” Hannah countered, annoyed with his attitude.

Ethan didn’t stop until he stood in front of her. “Of course it was.” His eyes flicked over her face, as if taking her up on her challenge.

Hannah caught a glint of humor in his gray-green eyes, but she refused to respond.

“Now that you are both here, we can begin.” Dan picked up a pair of glasses and slipped them on his face as he moved some papers on his desk aside. Without looking up, he motioned to the two empty chairs in front of the desk. “You two can sit down instead of circling each other like a couple of banty roosters.”

“Only one rooster, Uncle Dan,” Ethan corrected, hooking the other chair with his shiny cowboy boot and pulling it closer. “And one hen.”

“That could be insulting,” Hannah said.

“Just trying to be biologically correct,” Ethan returned.

“The term is politically correct.”

“Honey, when it comes to chickens the only politics is, the male rules the roost.”

“Until he gets henpecked.”

“Can we start?” Dan prompted, shooting his nephew a warning glance.

Ethan sat, resting his one booted foot across his knee, pushing the chair on its back two legs. Obviously the man felt at home.

Dan gave her a thoughtful look. “Before we start, however, I also want to extend my condolences on the death of your mother.”

His sympathies, though kind, caught her off guard. Though it had been only four months since she’d stood alone beside her mother’s grave, the sharpest edges of her sorrow had already been dulled.

“I’m sure you must miss her,” Dan continued.

“I do, though we hadn’t seen much of each other the past few years.”

Ethan looked puzzled. “But I thought—”

“I had assumed as much.” Dan cut Ethan off. “It had taken us some time to find where she had lived.” He uncovered a large envelope, which he placed on the desk in front of him, and folded his hands over the top.

“I feel I should make some kind of formal announcement. While this isn’t classified as an official reading of the will, Sam did ask that I read this bequest in this fashion.” Dan waited a moment, then picked up the envelope. “I have to warn both of you that I already know what this envelope contains. As executor of Sam’s will, I perused every item relating to his estate, including the letter accompanying the will.” He paused, his attention resting on Ethan. “I want you both to understand that the contents of the document I’m about to read to you are known only to Sam’s lawyer and me.”

Ethan nodded and Dan’s eyes went to Hannah. She didn’t know what was required of her, so she nodded, as well.

Dan gave her a gentle smile and Hannah’s curiosity grew.

What was in the envelope that necessitated her flying across the country to attend this meeting?

Dan opened the envelope and pulled out some papers.

“I’ll read Sam’s letter first.” He cleared his throat and began. “‘Dear Hannah. I’m going to start with you, because if you are here, you have come the farthest and probably have the most questions….’”

Hannah wrapped her arms across her chest, bracing herself as Dan’s even voice read Sam’s words, an eerie echo from the grave.

“‘…I’m sorry I never phoned you or explained why I left. I wanted to, but that’s all I’m going to say about that. I didn’t do right by you. I have had tons of time to sit and think and I keep thinking of how I just left you and your mom. So, this is a way to fix that mistake. Dan, I hope you can get hold of her and find her. And, Ethan, please, just be patient.’”

“What does he mean by that?” Ethan said.

“You’ll see,” Dan said without looking at his nephew. He took a careful sip of water from a glass sitting at his elbow, as if preparing for what he had to say. He read on.

“‘I thought a lot about what I’m going to tell you. I didn’t make this decision quick or easy. But this is the right thing to do. Hannah, I want you to have half of my farm…’”

“What?” The question exploded out of Ethan as his tilting chair slammed on the floor. “Read that again?”

Dan adjusted his glasses and sighed. This time he held his nephew’s angry gaze. “Please, Ethan. Just wait. This is difficult for me, as well, but please let me finish.”

Ethan glared at Dan, then leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. Hannah tried to ignore his hostile body language as she collected her own confused thoughts. Half of a farm? What could that mean?

Dan pinched his nose, blew out his breath, and continued. “‘Hannah, this is all I can give you, to be fair to Ethan. But you get this half of the farm on one condition. You stay here in Riverbend for six months, and you stay on the farm. When six months is over, you can do what you want with your half. If you leave before the six months are up, you don’t get half.’” Dan glanced up at Hannah. “Do you understand what I just read?”

Though Hannah nodded, she struggled to process the concept. Half of some farm? If she stayed six months? In what twisted corner of Sam’s mind did he think he was doing her any favor with this?

Hannah’s salon plans didn’t include a six-month detour in this forgotten corner of the world with people who wouldn’t acknowledge her presence in Sam’s life.

She chanced a quick look at the man beside her.

Ethan rocked in his chair, as well, his mouth set in hard lines, his face angry. Not difficult to see he didn’t like the idea, either.

Well, no worries there, Hannah thought, rubbing her forehead. She had only come to Riverbend because of Dan’s phone call and Lizzie thinking Hannah had something coming to her from Sam.

And it appeared she had. Half of a farm. She wondered what Lizzie would say to that.

“There is more,” Dan said. “He says, ‘Hannah, if you don’t want to stay, you lose your half of the farm. I know this comes out of the blue, but I’ve had time to think while I’m lying here in this hospital. I know I’m dying and I want to fix what I should have fixed long ago. Hannah, I’m sorry. Forgive me. I want to make things right. If you stay, in six months Dan will have another meeting with you. I want you to know I thought of you lots and always loved you.’ And that’s the end of what he has to say to you.” Dan paused a moment as if to give Hannah a chance to absorb the words.

Hannah knew it was going to take more than a few moments to get this all straight in her mind.

Dan glanced at his nephew. “Sam had something to say to you, as well.”

“I’m sure he did,” Ethan said, his voice a growl.

“I’ll read that now. ‘Ethan, I hope you understand that I had to do this. I’m sorry for you, as well. You were always going to get the farm like I promised and if Hannah leaves, it’s all yours. You’ve been a big help to me. I couldn’t have run the farm without you. You are the only Westerveld who loved the farm like your grandfather did. I want you to know I love you. I’m sorry if this doesn’t seem fair to you, but I want you to know I have to do right by Hannah. Because I didn’t years ago. You’ve been a great partner and you’re a wonderful and loving nephew. I hope you understand. With love, Sam.’” In the ensuing silence, Dan looked at the letter he still held in his hand, as if trying to digest this information once again. Then he slowly folded it up and inserted it back in the envelope. “And that ends the letter.”

Ethan got up, walked to the bookshelf, then turned to his uncle. “I’m trying to understand this, Dan, but I can’t. Grandpa Westerveld was working me into the farm. Then, when Sam finally came back, I started working with him. I’ve put years of my life into that place. I put money into it—” He stopped there, glanced at Hannah, then continued. “Uncle Sam showed me a copy of his will in the hospital. It never said anything about this.”

Hannah felt a moment’s compassion at the hurt she heard under Ethan’s bluster.

“And now, out of the blue he’s giving half to…to—” he waved his hand toward Hannah as if she were some piece of detritus clinging to his shiny boots “—her.”

“Sam changed the will just before he died. And her name is Hannah,” Dan chided.

Ethan ignored Dan’s reprimand and leaned back against the shelves. “And what am I supposed to do with a partner who knows zip about farming? Who probably doesn’t even know what that place is worth? What was Uncle Sam thinking?”

Ethan’s anger battered at Hannah’s fragile self-control, his words mixing and churning in her own mind. But curiously his anger at what Sam had done created the opposite effect.

Why didn’t he think she deserved half of this farm? Sam had been her “father” for nine years. And after he left them, neither she nor her mother had ever received a dime from him.

Hannah recalled the humiliation of those years post-Sam. Constantly short of money, living with a mother who, after her nervous breakdown, couldn’t work. In spite of that, and with the help of the occasional trip to the food bank, she managed to keep a home.

“When did that first will change? And why?” Ethan’s expression hardened. “I’m going to contest this. I’ll be talking to Jace tomorrow.”

Dan leaned back in his chair. “We’re not discussing this in front of Hannah,” he said quietly. “Suffice it to say this letter was witnessed and notarized and at the time of writing Sam was declared in his right mind. The official will states exactly what I just read, but Sam wrote this letter to explain what he called ‘the dry lawyer language’ in the will.”

“What if I don’t want the farm?” Hannah asked.

Dan looked toward her, as if remembering she was there. “Then you don’t get anything, I’m afraid.”

Hannah tapped her thumbs together, remembering her and her mother’s life with Sam. She didn’t have anything from Sam now other than memories. This family had everything.

She had no right to the farm, and yet to walk away with empty hands from a family who didn’t even acknowledge their presence in Sam’s life…

Memories piled upon memories. Whispered telephone conversations Sam had with family members back here. The way he retreated from her and her mother afterward.

Hannah looked down, her emotions coloring her thoughts.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said.

“Of course not,” Dan said, his soft voice sounding as if he understood. “You should give yourself some time to think about this.”

“Uncle Dan…”

Dan held up his hand, forestalling any more comments from his nephew.

“I’m sorry,” Ethan said. “I’ve been out of line. It’s just…Sam…” His voice broke. Then he strode past the desk to the window and braced one hand on the frame, the other on his hip as he stared out into the yard. He stood in profile to Hannah and for a moment she saw a flash of genuine sorrow on his face.

In spite of his previous antagonism, she found herself feeling bad for him. He had just lost an uncle he’d worked with side by side for so many years. And then to hear this same uncle, out of the blue, had promised a complete stranger half of the farm—well, if she’d just had a shock, she was sure he’d had a bigger one.

“I don’t want you to make this decision lightly,” Dan said, holding Hannah’s regard. “I would really like it if you would come with me to the farm and have a look at Sam’s place.”

For the briefest moment she felt a tug of emotion.

That was silly. She was a city girl. That wasn’t going to change.

She had her plans. When the salon she and Lizzie were buying generated enough money, maybe then she could look at a place with a real yard. But for now, she had to be satisfied with what she could realistically afford.

“I thought you might like to at least see where Sam lived before you make your decision,” Dan continued. “He took over the farm from our parents. He grew up there, as did we.” The wistfulness in Dan’s voice landed a gentle hook in Hannah’s heart. Roots. Stability. Something she and her mother had never really had.

“I’m sure it’s lovely….” She couldn’t think of a proper rebuttal, so she just let the sentence hang between them.

Dan scratched his temple with one finger, then sighed. “I would like you to think about this. Sleep on it.” He gave Hannah a careful smile. “In fact, I’m not going to listen to any decision today.”

“Okay,” she said reluctantly. “I’ll wait.”

Dan smiled. “I’ll be praying you make the right choice.”

When she was younger, Sam would pray with her. Over time, that eased off. She missed it.

Hannah ducked her head to hide the sudden prickling in her eyes. Dear Sam, now your brother is praying for me, too. The thought gave her a peculiar warmth and comfort.

She waited until the thickness in her throat eased, as the silence in the office created its own urgency. She picked up her purse and stood. “So, I guess that’s all you need for now?”

“For now,” Dan repeated. “When you decide what you want to do, I want you to call me and we’ll take things from there.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow.” She slipped her purse over her shoulder.

“When does your flight leave?”

“Sunday evening.”

“Then why don’t you meet me after church on Sunday. Just to give yourself enough time.” He rested his fingertips on Sam’s letter.

“Okay. Sunday morning after church, I’ll tell you what I decide.”

“Do you have a cell phone? Maybe you could give me your number. Just in case.” Dan handed her a pen and a piece of paper. She bent over and scribbled the number down. As she straightened, she chanced another look at Ethan at the same time he turned to face her. He was attractive, she conceded.

But that wasn’t enough to induce her to live out here for half a year. Not near enough.

“It was a pleasure meeting you,” Dan said, holding out his hand across the desk.

Her mother had always told her that Sam’s family didn’t care for them, so she doubted the sincerity of his comment, but she gave him a polite smile and shook his hand.

“Goodbye, Hannah,” Ethan said, turning away from the window. “Thanks for coming.”

And she doubted his thanks, too.

“It was nice meeting you.” While they were exchanging pleasantries, she figured she might as well add a few of her own. “Again, I’m sorry for your loss. Sam must have meant a lot to both of you, as well.” She felt a sudden need to explain. “I need you to know, this is as much of a shock for me as it was for you.”

“I understand,” Ethan said quietly, though his tight expression told her otherwise. “Thanks for coming.” He reached out to shake her hand. She hesitated, then took it.

His rough and callused palm was a surprising contrast to the pressed khaki pants and golf shirt he wore. His eyes held hers as she shook his hand and a frisson of awareness flickered within her.

She pulled her hand away. Definitely time to go.

She gave Ethan a smile, then walked out of the room.

Chapter Three

“So no money? Just half a farm?” Lizzie sounded frustrated, as if hoping Hannah had called to tell her the cash amount of her supposed inheritance. “And what are you going to do with that?”

“I don’t know. Sell it, I guess.” Hannah let go of the steering wheel of her rental car, downshifted, grabbed the wheel again and turned her car into the parking lot of the motel.

“In six months.”

“I know. I don’t know what to do.”

“You can’t negotiate?”

“With a dead man? Lizzie, this was written out by Sam, signed and sealed in front of a lawyer. I guess this trip was a waste of money.”

“I really thought you’d get money up front. Too bad you didn’t take up the family on their offer to pay for your ticket.”

“I don’t want a penny from them….”

“But if you get half of that farm, you’ll get more than a penny.”

“In six months? I’m not interested.”

Hannah pulled into the parking stall in front of her motel room. “So, did you go to the bank?”

“No. Not yet.”

Hannah continued as she got out of the car. “I thought you were meeting with them this afternoon?”

“I had to cover your appointments, honey.”

Lizzie sounded funny. “Is everything okay yet?”

“Everything’s fine. I’m waiting for a call from our loan officer and I’m telling Taylor tonight about the change in our appointment.”

“You sure this is still a go?” Hannah got out of the car and walked to the edge of a field bordering the motel. A few shoots of green worked themselves through the tangle of weeds covering the field.

“Absolutely. So when you coming back?” Lizzie asked, abruptly shifting the conversation to another topic.

“Dan Westerveld wanted me to take some time to think about my decision. I’ll talk to him on Sunday.”

“Excellent idea. Take your time, Hannah. You could use a break. You’ve been working day and night on that stupid business plan. You’ve already paid for your ticket. You may as well enjoy some time off work.”

“Not my idea of a holiday,” Hannah said, lifting her face to the warm spring sun. “Did you talk to the landlord about that leaky tap?”

“He says he’ll get to it when he gets to it.” Lizzie hummed a little tune and Hannah braced herself.

“What’s up, Lizzie?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re humming. Every time you hum, you’ve got some confession to make.”

Lizzie sighed. “Well, I was going to wait until you were back. I knew once we start running the salon, you’ll have more money and you’ll probably enjoy being on your own. The apartment won’t cost much ’cause it’s part of the salon….”

Hannah’s heart sank while Lizzie continued.

“And Pete’s been making noises about us getting more serious.”

“Don’t tell me he wants you to move in with him,” Hannah said.

“Now don’t even start on your old-lady fussing and moralizing,” Lizzie continued. “We’re going to get married once you and me get the salon going.”

“You sound like my mother.” Hannah couldn’t keep the slightly bitter tone out of her voice. “I’m guessing you’re moving out tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m disappointed Pete thinks you’re that easy, Lizzie.” And no sooner had the words left her mouth than Hannah wished she could take them back.

“Not all of us are willing to keep guys at arm’s length just because we don’t trust them,” Lizzie snapped. “You haven’t gone out with anyone since Alex dumped you.”

“I’ll date when I find a guy worth dating.” Unlike my mother who, after Sam, went out with any man that smiled at her longer than two seconds.

“And you won’t find a guy worth dating if you don’t date.”

Hannah checked her next comment. She needed Lizzie and didn’t dare push her too far. “So you’ll be moved out when I’m back.” Hannah deliberately pitched her voice low and forced a smile to her face.

“Pete’s a good guy, Hannah. He’s solid.”

Not solid enough to want to marry her.

“Anyway, I gotta go. Gotta make a few more calls about this business….” Lizzie let the sentence hang and Hannah felt a niggle of doubt creep into her mind.

“You sure everything’s okay, Lizzie?”

“Yeah. Hey, whaddya think about Pete coming in on this deal? He’s got a few dollars he can put in. Will help us out a lot.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” She decided to forgo the obvious complications of bringing in a partner who knew precious little about the salon business, never mind the fact that if Lizzie and Pete broke up, the business would be affected.

“I kinda thought you would say that.” Lizzie sighed. “Okay. Gotta go. Take care.”

Hannah said goodbye, flipped her phone shut and slipped it into her pocket. Lizzie sounded distracted. The whole business deal was taking more out of both of them than Hannah wanted to admit.

She glanced at her watch. Lots of time left in this day. Maybe she should go for a drive and get her mind off all the events bombarding her mind the past few days.

Fifteen minutes later she was heading out of town, down the highway. The only other vehicle was a bright red truck and he had his signal light on for the next exit.

Ethan Westerveld, she realized as she came closer. The truck turned onto a gravel road marked with a hand-painted sign announcing a farm for sale. Was Sam’s farm at the end of the road? And what did it look like, this place Sam wanted to split between her and his nephew?

Dan’s comment slipped to the forefront of her mind.

Was she sure she didn’t want to see the place where Sam grew up?

A niggling curiosity had her putting one foot on the clutch, the other on the brake and her hand on the signal light.

What if he’s not going to the farm?

She had little else to do today. She geared down and turned onto the gravel road, following the dust from Ethan’s truck.

She passed a dairy farm and a few other yards. Some neat, some messy. Some of the houses were newer, some old. She passed an abandoned farm site, the graying timbers of the house sagging sadly toward the earth as if missing its previous owners.

And space and space and more space.

She came to the next crossroad and slowed down. A faint cloud of dust hung over the road going left. South of the road, she thought she saw a yard. She caught the glimpse of a house roof tucked against a clump of trees and beyond that, a hip roof barn painted green.

And parked by the barn, a red pickup truck. Ethan’s truck.

Hannah put the car in gear, spun the wheel and almost popped the clutch as she gunned the car around the corner, stilling the second thoughts spinning through her head as her tires spun on the gravel.

The sign at the end of the driveway, an exact replica of the one at the entrance to Dan and Tilly’s place, assured her that this indeed was Sam’s place.

Doubts immediately assailed Hannah. What was she doing here? She had no intention of sticking around; why check the place out?

But Sam had come from and had returned to this place. Why not discover more about the place the man she once loved had spent much of his life? Why not find out what she was turning down, just so she’d know for sure she had made the right decision?

Sam’s place had the same treed driveway. But as she came closer to the house, her heart lightened.

Where Dan and Tilly’s house clearly said no money had been spared, this place created an entirely different ambience.

The house was a simple cottage style, with a covered veranda, two bay windows flanking a main door. Above the veranda, two dormer windows broke the steeply pitched roof. The house was perched on a hill and, behind and below it, Hannah caught the glint of sunshine bouncing off a small lake.

The place was like a tiny jewel. The classic country house in the classic country setting.

So this is what I’m turning down. Hannah rested her hands on the steering wheel, her eyes taking in the flow of the land, the way the house was set so perfectly on the low rise above the lake. And above it all, a deep blue sky, broken only by faint wisps of cloud.

Was she crazy?

The Westervelds wouldn’t want her intruding into their memory of Sam. She and her mother were an anomaly in Sam’s life.

She should go.

Not yet, she thought, putting the car in gear and turning off the key. She wanted to have another look at Sam’s place and imagine him here. She wanted to fill in the blank spot of the “before us and after us,” the part of Sam’s life that had called him back.

As Hannah stepped out of her car she heard the sound of a door slamming shut. She turned in time to see Ethan charge out of the house, buttoning his shirt as he ran.

He slowed down as he saw her, then walked her way, tucking the faded plaid shirt into old, worn jeans.

“Hey, there,” he said as he came nearer. “Come to check the place out after all?”

“I was just going for a drive.”

He stopped on the other side of her car and leaned on the roof. “You want a tour?”

“No. It looks like you’re busy. I was just…” She lifted her chin. “Just curious.”

Ethan nodded, drumming his fingers on the roof.

Hannah looked past him to the house with the lake shining in the background. “It’s a beautiful spot,” she said quietly.

Ethan glanced back in the same direction she’d been looking. “That it is,” he agreed. “I spent a lot of hours on that lake. I think I know every drop of water it holds.”

“Does the lake have fish?”

“Uncle Sam and I have been trying for the past couple of years to stock it with trout. My cousins and I used to fish on it.”

“Cousins.” She digested that thought a moment. “How many are there of you?”

“I was blessed with two parents, Morris and Dot, one sister, Francine, a bunch of girl cousins and two male cousins. Sam, of course, had no kids.”

And there it came again. The faint backward slap of dismissal. She and her mother were never a legal part of the Westerveld clan, hence they didn’t count.

Did the whole family see her and her mother this way? Some shadowy interlude? A mistake rectified only when Sam returned to the Westerveld bosom and all that messy business back East was cleared out of his life so he could move on?

Did they even think about her and her mother and what had happened to them when Sam left?

Hannah looked back at the house again and an old yearning trembled awake. She remembered Sam talking about the farm. About the garden he used to grow.

One spring, when she was eight, they bought some potting soil, a huge planter and some bedding plants. They planted and watered them. June and July their balcony was a cornucopia of flowers and scents. But best of all, in August, they plucked sun-warmed tomatoes for their salad. Sam made BLTs every night for a week. Hannah easily remembered the sweet tang of those tomatoes.

And she remembered the wistful look on Sam’s face when they pulled the dead plant up and took the pot to the Dumpster in the parking lot of the apartment.

This was what he’d been missing. Hannah surveyed the yard, the house, and that perfect little lake behind. Was this why he had stayed away from her and her mother?

To her surprise and dismay, tears pricked her eyes. She turned away, pretending to look at another part of the yard while she swiped the tears from her cheek.

“Did Sam have a garden here?” she asked, trying to sound normal and contained.

“Yeah. Behind the house. But the past couple of years, he didn’t do much gardening. Do you want to see it?”

“Look, you have work to do and I’d better get back to town. Thanks for the offer though.” She gave him a quick smile and ducked into the car.

But before she put the car in Reverse, she looked at the house again, trying to imagine Sam sitting on the porch, looking out over the lake.

Well, this was it. Her last look at the place he’d come to. She’d probably never see it again.

Hannah sat bolt upright in the bed, pulling herself out of a busy, fretful dream. She blinked as she looked around, her mind trying to make sense of where she was. The light coming into the room was all wrong.

Cheap prints on the wall, thin curtains at the window.

Hannah rubbed her eyes. The motel in Riverbend.

She glanced the clock radio beside her bed and blinked at the numbers.

Eight forty-five in the morning.

She pulled her hands over her face as sleep still dragged at her mind. She couldn’t believe she had slept that long. Of course in Toronto the screeching of the GO train past her window in the morning got her up well before her alarm clock rang.

The day slowly registered. The day she was supposed to tell Dan Westerveld that she wouldn’t be staying. Yesterday she had done what Lizzie suggested and driven around town. She walked down Main Street, had coffee at the coffee shop, listening to the chitchat of the local people as they wandered in and out. The owner, an attractive woman of indeterminate age, had glanced at her with curiosity from time to time, but had left her alone.

She had driven around some more, but had avoided going down the road with the Farm for Sale sign. A puzzling restlessness had clawed at her, keeping her on the move.

Now it was Sunday morning and this afternoon her plane was leaving. She stretched across the bed, snagged her cell phone off the bed and punched in Lizzie’s number again.

Yawning, she walked to the window of the hotel room and tugged one curtain aside. As with all motels, her window looked out over a parking lot, but beyond that she could see a field and above it all the blue bowl of the sky wisped with clouds.

Another beautiful day in Alberta.

She frowned as the phone kept ringing. Where was Lizzie? She had tried to phone Lizzie a couple of times yesterday, but had been shunted to Lizzie’s answering system each time. Hannah snapped the phone shut, folding her hand around it as she leaned in the window, her eyes following the path of a hawk in the sky above.

The sprightly tune of Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” jangled from her fist and she snapped open the phone, glancing at the name.

“Taylor. Hello.”

“Hey, congratulations, beautiful.” Taylor’s fake heartiness annoyed her, as it always did. “I heard you inherited half a farm. Lizzie told me not to call you, but I couldn’t resist. I’m trying to imagine you slopping hogs and feeding chickens.”

His faintly mocking voice irked her, as well. Ever since she had turned Taylor down for a date, he’d treated her with a veiled measure of disdain. Just enough to grate but not enough to call him out on it. “I only get the farm if I stick around for six months, which I’m not.”

“You’re not? Lizzie said you were moving out there.”

Hannah frowned as she tried to make sense of what Taylor was telling her. “Lizzie told you wrong.”

“But…I thought…That’s why I signed the deal with her and Pete.”

“What deal?”

“The salon deal. Lizzie said Pete came in as a partner when she found out you were staying out West. He had a bunch of money he wanted to invest. I signed everything up with her yesterday. She’s the new owner.”

She couldn’t marshal her thoughts as protests, shock, dismay and anger, then fury, fought with each other to be articulated.

“You sold the salon to Lizzie?”

“She and Pete will take possession in a week and move in upstairs. She told me she wanted to tell you herself but I thought I’d call anyway. I was curious about the farming thing. Whatever made you want to stay in redneck land?”

His words simply slipped past her—noises requiring words she couldn’t formulate. Shock still held her in its thrall.

Lizzie had done the deal behind her back? Lizzie and Pete now owned the salon? Lizzie and Pete were going to move into the apartment she had envisioned as her own?

Then, as the enormity of what her friend had done finally registered, she realized she didn’t need to talk to Taylor anymore. He had nothing to give her now.

Hannah hesitated in the foyer of the church, her hands clenched at her sides. On the way here, fury at Lizzie’s betrayal had taken over the initial shock, keeping her feet and hands ice-cold.

Each time her mind replayed Taylor’s conversation, her anger smoldered and grew, seeking an outlet. And she had found it as Lizzie’s betrayal resurrected older, deeper betrayals. Alex. Sam.

At least Sam had acknowledged his mistake and had tried to make amends. And as the heat of her anger cooled, it was replaced by a steely determination to take care of herself and not be concerned by what others thought.

Meeting Dan Westerveld at church had not been the plan, but when she had called the Westerveld home and gotten no answer she could only surmise they were here.

But as she entered the foyer, her moment of rebellion lost its punch. What was she doing in a church? She had no right to be here.

Well, she’d just have to go out and wait in the—

“Welcome to our services.”

Hannah bit back a startled scream and spun around to face a very friendly, smiling man.

“If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll find you a place,” he said.

Hannah took a step back, waving her hand over her shoulder as if to indicate that someone was waiting for her. “No. That’s fine.”

“Follow me.” The usher checked back to see if she was coming. What else could she do but follow in the wake of his helpfulness into the sanctuary?

A sense of twisted, divine humor assailed her as the usher finally stopped, indicating an empty spot right beside Ethan Westerveld.

Ethan was talking to a young woman beside him. A different one than the girl she’d seen with him in town. As Hannah plunked down beside him, he turned to look at her, but his welcoming expression froze and turned into a polite nod.

The minister greeted the congregation, urging them to rise and sing.

As the music started up, Hannah looked for the proper book. She felt an elbow nudge her and glanced sidelong to see Ethan holding out a book. “Here.”

Hannah took the book and, as she opened it, the young woman beside Ethan leaned forward, giving Hannah a once-over and a frown.

Okay, so her jeans and suede jacket over a T-shirt wasn’t the best outfit for church, but she hadn’t counted on being in the middle of the action. She wasn’t going to let this woman intimidate her. Hannah gave her a beatific smile then turned back to her songbook.

The woman pulled back and, though Ethan wasn’t looking at her, she caught a flash of a dimple on his cheek. So he thought this was funny?

Maybe another time it might be. But she wasn’t about to make a fool of herself in the community in which she was going to be spending the next six months.

Panic gripped her at the thought. Six months. One hundred and eighty-some days. And what about her apartment? Her stuff? Her clothes?

What if Dan said she had waited too long? Had she lost her chance?

Hannah gripped the book as her eyes scanned the music of the song, trying to focus her scattered thoughts.

“…the ripe fruits in the garden,” Hannah sang, and her mind immediately sprang to Sam and the farm and his garden.

Her garden now.

She repeated the words, cementing them in her mind. She knew she faced the objections of Ethan and the Westerveld family. With a shake of her head she dismissed the thought. Sam had willed her half of the farm. She would stay—had to stay, thanks to her two-faced friend.

“…the Lord God made them all.” She ignored Ethan’s sidelong glance as she finished the song and closed the book with a decisive snap.

The congregation settled back down as the minister began to speak about God and how He revealed Himself in nature.

The comment gave her pause as she thought about the changing seasons. How spring was slowly making itself known. She wondered what the farm would look like in a couple of weeks.

“…but what is most amazing, what truly calls us to stop and think is that the God who created this world and this vast universe in all its intricacies, wants to be in a relationship with us.” The minister’s voice rose, snagging Hannah’s wandering attention. “He wants to be a faithful father to us. To love us. That’s why He gave His only son. As a sacrifice to pay for our sins.”

His words, spoken with such stirring conviction, created a tingle in Hannah’s chest. Sam had once told her the story of how God was also the Jesus that came at Christmas and the shepherd from Psalm 23. This had gotten too confusing for Hannah and then her mother told Sam to stop putting fairy tales in Hannah’s head.

And slowly Hannah relegated the stories of Jesus and God to the realm of Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella and Bambi. Nice stories, but just that. Stories.

And now this man, in all seriousness, talked about this same God, the creator of the world, as if He was a father?

Hannah never knew her biological father. Sam was the only father figure in her life. And he had left.

She tried not to fidget as the service went on and when they finally stood for what looked to be the last song, Hannah started looking around the congregation for Dan. She wanted to get this part of the deal over and done with.

“You looking for someone in particular?” Ethan’s deep voice pulled her attention to him.

She met his eyes and caught it again, the faintest glimmer of interest. And she felt it again. An answering glint of awareness.

Which was not what should be on her mind right now. Being attracted to a man, whom she might be forced to spend six months working with, was not an option.

And then she saw Dan coming down the aisle toward her and she put aside thoughts of Ethan. Hannah waited until Dan came alongside, then screwed up her courage and joined him in the aisle.

“Hannah. Good to see you here.” His enthusiasm made her feel like a fraud.

“I’ve made a decision.”

Dan looked over at his wife, Tilly, who seemed vitally interested in what they were saying. “Do you want to go somewhere private?”

“Not really.” People would find out soon enough what her decision was. She gave him a tight smile, hoping he wouldn’t catch the hint of desperation in her voice. “I’ve decided to stay.”

Chapter Four

“There’s a set of clean sheets in the cupboard. Some towels there, as well. You can put your groceries in the fridge.” Ethan waited as Hannah glanced around the kitchen, two bags of groceries hanging from her hands. He struggled to keep his voice even, his tone neutral.

He was still processing the implications of Sam’s last decision, let alone having this woman staying on the farm. Last night he moved what stuff he could to the holiday trailer his dad kept parked on the yard for storage. He didn’t have much to pack up. As for the condition of the house…

Well, he hadn’t counted on a woman staying here. She would just have to take it as it is, he thought, forcing himself to ignore the stack of dirty dishes in the sink and the crumbs on the counter from his breakfast this morning.

“I feel bad that I’m kicking you out of your house,” Hannah said, setting the bags on the counter. “I can stay in the holiday trailer.”

“This is easier.” Besides, the condition of the trailer was even sketchier. No one had cleaned the trailer since his nieces and nephews stayed in it last summer.

“Okay.” Hannah looked around again. “This is a nice place.”

“It needs some cleaning.” Ethan scratched his head, wishing he could as easily dispel the low-level headache pressing behind his eyes. “So you going to be okay? Got enough food?” he felt compelled to ask. After all, she was a city girl unaccustomed to living in the country.

“I’ve got enough for a couple weeks, I think.” Her tight smile belied her breezy confidence. “Thanks for showing me around.”

“Next time I go to town, I’ll let you know. Now that you don’t have a car.”

He’d had to pick her up from the dealership where she had rented a vehicle. He wondered why she returned it and how she was going to last without a car way out here. “Uncle Dan recommended I give you a small allowance from the farm. Just to keep you in groceries and whatever else you might need. We can settle up for that in…” He let the sentence trail off.

“In six months,” Hannah finished for him.

He wasn’t going to think that far or notice how she looked around the place—as if mentally figuring out what she could get for it.

He couldn’t think about losing this farm. He’d poured too much time and money into it. This farm had been his refuge; his second home as long as he could remember. Though his parents, Morris and Dot, lived and worked in town, Ethan had come to the farm whenever he could. His first vivid memory was of riding with his grandfather on the tractor, pulling the seed drill. First his grandfather and then his uncle had promised him this farm. His father had told him to get something in writing, but he had trusted Uncle Sam.

He should have been more hard-nosed. More businesslike.

Now he was facing the very real prospect of losing half of what he had spent most of his life working toward, and all because he hadn’t treated his own uncle like a business partner.

He put the brakes on his thoughts. She needed to stay there six months. She might not last. Concentrate only on today, he reminded himself. He thought he had learned that lesson by now, but obviously he needed reminding.

For now his focus was putting the crop in and getting the cows calved out. When that was done, he could move on to the next thing that needed his attention.

“So, I’m going to be heading out. I’ve got a few chores to do.”

“What kind of chores?”

“You wouldn’t be interested.” None of the girls he brought to the farm were; why should a city girl be?

She nodded, her expression growing hard. “You’re probably right.”

He left, carefully closing the door behind him. The sun was sinking below the horizon and he shivered a moment in the chill evening air.

Scout, his faithful dog, jumped up from his usual place by the back door and fell into step beside him, his tail wagging with the eternal optimism of dogs the world over.

“Hey, there,” he said, ruffling his dark fur. “Things are going to be different now. We’ve got someone else on the yard.” Ethan glanced back at the house.

Hannah stood in front of one of the windows. He couldn’t see her face, only her silhouette as she looked out.

“She’s probably wondering what she got herself into,” he murmured to his dog. “City girl, out in the middle of nowhere.”

The thought gave him some small measure of comfort. She wouldn’t last the six months.

He needed to call his lawyer first thing in the morning and get things going. He had no idea where he stood from a legal viewpoint, but he wasn’t going to simply roll over and watch years of hard work get siphoned off by Marla Kristoferson’s daughter.

Hannah lay in the bed, her hands folded on her stomach, her eyes focused on the ceiling, her thoughts spinning in her head.

What had she done? Was she crazy? What had made her think she could move from the middle of a city of millions out to the country with no one except one resentful man staying in a trailer nearby?

She angled her head to the side, trying to catch some noise, the tiniest note of familiarity.

But nothing. No cars. No trains. No music from rowdy neighbors. No voices outside the building.

A lot of heavy, quiet nothing in a lot of heavy, quiet darkness.

Don’t panic. Don’t panic, she reminded herself, rolling over onto her side. How could there not be any extra bit of light?

What if she had to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night? Surely she would bump into something, fall and break her neck on her way to turn on the light, and who would be here to hear her? Who would even notice her? She’d be lying on the floor for weeks before anyone discovered her.

Hannah flopped onto her back again, pushing the fear to the side. She was crazy. Certifiable. She knew Ethan was hoping she wouldn’t last the full six months. And maybe he was right. Maybe she was too much of a city girl. Maybe she was overestimating her ability to last. She didn’t have to do this, did she?

But she did. She had no choice. The thought slithered like a snake in her belly. After moving out of her mother’s apartment, she had made a vow that she was going to be in charge of her own life, that she wasn’t going to have circumstances dictate her choices.

And here she was, pushed into a corner like some reluctant rabbit by a friend who wasn’t a friend at all. Snake was a better word.

She sighed and punched the pillow, taking out her anger at Lizzie on the pillow. Louse. Rotter. Betrayer. Her anger with Lizzie combined with her latent anger with Alex. Whatever happened to faithfulness? To working on relationships?

A high-pitched howl pierced the night and Hannah shot up, looking fearfully around as another howl joined the first. The second one was much closer. Then a third chimed in, their eerie notes slithering down the scale.

From another part of the yard the dog started barking. Ethan’s dog, she assumed. Did it know something she didn’t know? Was something crouching in the darkness, waiting, watching, its dark red eyes glowing with anticipation?

Suddenly she wished for the quiet.

She lay back on the bed, counting backward from one hundred, like Sam had taught her to do when she was little and afraid of the dark. And as she counted, lying in the house that Sam had lived in up until just a few short weeks ago, it was as if she could hear him talking to her. Telling her it would be okay.

The memory comforted her. She kept counting, out loud, her monotone voice filling the sudden silence.

Which was broken by the creaking sound of a door opening downstairs.

Her heart pitched into her throat. That something she had thought was waiting, was now trying to get into the house.

But she had locked the door.

What was she supposed to do? Call the police?

Right. And how far away were they? By the time they got here she could be buried in the back forty, the murderer laughing all the way to the border.

Hannah grabbed her housecoat and pulled it on over her pajamas, determined that she was not going to be murdered in her bed. Then she saw a broom leaning against the door.

Pretty flimsy protection, but it was better than going down empty-handed.

And where was that dog? Shouldn’t he have been barking up a storm? Or maybe the dog was already dead. Maybe the murderer had gotten to Ethan and the dog first.

Too many horror movies, Hannah reminded herself, trying to corral her runaway thoughts. There’s a reasonable explanation for everything. It could be Ethan. Whom she would cheerfully hit with the broom. Had to be Ethan. But why would he be sneaking around?

Then she heard another creak downstairs and all coherent thought fled. Someone was in the house she had locked up securely and double-checked. And she was all alone.

She eased open the door, wincing as it creaked into the silence. She stopped, waited.

But as she listened, her ears hyperaware, she heard the sound of the floor creaking under cautious footsteps.

She might have a chance of getting out of the house. And then what? Run mindlessly through the yard as the intruder ran after her brandishing a knife?

Should she be praying right now?

If You help me through this, Lord, I’ll go to church, she promised, drawing in a long slow breath for courage. I can’t promise much more than that.

She paused, wondering if she would hear an answer. Then, realizing she couldn’t leave everything up to God, she slowly worked her way down the stairs, her hands clutching the broom in a death grip. She kept her back to the wall, her eyes darting around the gloom. The only things she could make out were the hulking forms of the couch and chair in the living room.

Oh Lord, I just want to get out of here alive. That’s all. Her prayer was instinctive but, at the moment, heartfelt.

The sudden flash of light blinded her. She held up her broom, took a panicked step toward the door and tripped over the hem of her housecoat.

This is it, she thought as she fell, a dark figure hovering over her. This is how it ends. In an isolated country house, in the middle of nowhere.

Hands caught her, hauled her up.

She made an ineffectual jab with her broom at the dark figure holding on to her.

“Hey, easy with that,” the intruder said, blocking her jab with one arm. “Someone could get hurt.”

Hannah blinked at the sound of the voice.

Ethan.

Chapter Five

“What are you doing?” he asked, still holding on to her.

She pushed at his hands, stumbled again as he let go of her. But as she regained her balance, fear gave way to anger.

“No. You don’t get to ask questions. I get to ask questions.” She blinked, her eyes adjusting slowly to the beam of light shining down on the entranceway. She dropped the broom and yanked on the ties of her housecoat. “And my question is, what are you doing here?”

“I forgot my coat.”

“But I locked the house.”

He held up a key chain. “Sorry. I have my own keys.”

Hannah’s overworked heart still hammered in her chest. “You shouldn’t do that. I thought—”

“You thought you were going to beat me to death with that broom.”

“That thought did cross my mind,” she said, folding her arms over her chest. “You scared me half to death.”

“Sorry.” Ethan’s smile faded away and Hannah felt a moment’s regret. She hadn’t seen him smile since the first time they had met on the street corner. “Did you really think I was burglar?”

He had adopted a more neutral expression, but she knew he was still laughing at her.

“What else was I supposed to think? Usually when a person locks their door, it stays locked.”

“And here I was worried about waking you.”

Hannah swallowed, her heart finally returning to a more normal rhythm. “Well, I wasn’t sleeping.”

“Coyotes keep you awake?”

“Was that what that howling was?”

“Yeah. They were actually pretty quiet tonight. Usually they’re singing all around the yard.”

Was she imagining it or did his voice hold an extra note of glee?

“I’m sure I’ll get used to it.” She didn’t have a choice now, did she? “So what did you want?”

“My coat.” Ethan slipped it over his shirt and shoved his hands in the pockets. “Sorry I disturbed you. I won’t do it again.”

His casual dismissal, on top of the roller coaster of emotions she had just endured, kindled her anger.

“Maybe you should give me the keys and then it won’t happen again,” she said.

Ethan stopped, slowly pivoted back to face her, his expression grim. “What did you just ask me?”

“I’m sure you heard me. You’re only a couple of feet away.”

Ethan closed the small distance and came to stand directly in front of her. If he was trying to intimidate her, he was almost succeeding. Almost.

“This farm isn’t yours. Yet. And if I have my way, you won’t be able to lay any claim to it. But until the title is transferred to your name, I have as much right to come and go in this house as you do. I’m sorry I scared you and in the future I’ll try not to disturb you. I’ll respect your privacy, but I’m not giving you the keys to my house.”

Hannah tried to stare him down, her anger with him shifting and settling. “Fine. But I’m holding you to the promise to respect my privacy.”

“You don’t need to. Unlike most women, I keep my promises.”

She didn’t know where that came from. “Then you are a rarity among men,” she snapped back. “A lot of the men I know don’t comprehend the meaning of the word.”

They faced each other down, their words heavy with unspoken meaning.

“I’ll leave the dog here for you. He’ll keep the coyotes at bay.” Then Ethan gave a short laugh, turned and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

Hannah leaned against the wall, her arms and legs rubbery with delayed reaction.

“See,” she said to Scout, who was standing beside her, filling the ensuing silence with false bravado. “Nothing to be afraid of after all.”

Something warm was lying alongside her.

Hannah slowly opened her eyes, feeling disoriented. The room was full of light. The door was all wrong. Where was she?

She heard a light snuffle, then a sigh and her heart jumped again as she sat up, pulling her blankets up and around herself.

A pair of brown eyes, almost buried in long brown hair stared back at her. A pink tongue hung out of its mouth.

Scout. The dog angled its head to one side, as if studying her.

“I’m guessing you’re used to sleeping here,” she said, reaching out to stroke its head. “But I’m afraid that you’re going to have to get unused to this. I don’t share my bed with anyone, or anything. Period. You understand?”

The dog turned his head, as if listening for something only he could hear.

“More coyotes out there?” Hannah fondled his ears, smiling.

But the dog jumped off the bed and stood by her bedroom door, whining.

Hannah got up and checked her watch. “Six o’clock? Are you kidding me?” It was too light for six o’clock. It was too early for six o’clock.

She trudged to the door, opened it, and the dog scampered out of the room, his feet pounding down the stairs.

“Hey, there, Scout,” she heard Ethan whisper.

“You don’t need to be all quiet. I’m awake,” Hannah called, pushing down her annoyance that he had gained entrée into the house yet again.

“Good morning,” Ethan yelled from below. “I’ve just come to get my dog.”

“I thought I locked the door,” Hannah yelled back, her anger from the previous night spilling over into her voice.

“Why don’t you come down here so we don’t have to yell back and forth at each other,” Ethan shouted.

“No.” Bad enough that he had seen her in her ratty housecoat last night. She wasn’t about to repeat the performance. Next time he saw her, she was going to be fully dressed.

“If you want eggs for breakfast, you’ll have to wait,” Ethan said.

“For what?”

“I have to gather them yet.”

“From where?”

“The grocery store.”

“What?”

“I’m kidding. I have to get them from the chickens.”

Hannah pulled her housecoat closer around her and shook her head. Egg-laying chickens? What was this, the Waltons come to life?

“Do you want some milk?” he asked.

“No. Thanks. Eggs will be fine though.” She didn’t want to contemplate the milk’s origin. She waited until she heard the door close then hurried downstairs and, even though Ethan had the keys, she locked it once more. Maybe he would get the hint.

She pulled aside the thin curtain covering the window of the door and watched as Ethan strode across the yard, his hands in his pockets, his stride sure, his dog trotting alongside him, looking up with what looked suspiciously like adoration.

A man and his dog. A man in charge of his world.

A pain in the neck.

Hannah scurried upstairs and showered. She pulled her still-damp hair back and covered it with a bandanna. Makeup? Nope. She was out in the country and she wasn’t going to dress up for some Neanderthal who broke into people’s houses and scared them half to death.

She returned to the bedroom and finished unpacking the precious few clothes she had taken along. Hannah had left a message with her landlord to get Lizzie to pack up her stuff and put it in storage. That was the least her supposed friend could do for her. There was no way she was going to call Lizzie herself. Not now. Maybe never.

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